


E-I-E-I-O

by Ravenshell



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Brainwashing, Mind Control, Mind Games, Revenge, Subliminal Messages, adult version in the works, ruining childhood songs forever, uncooked poultry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 22:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6678610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenshell/pseuds/Ravenshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baxter Stockman is playing a dangerous game, using subliminal messages to take revenge on those who wronged him, but he's not chicken.  TMNT Community Award winner for April 2016!</p>
            </blockquote>





	E-I-E-I-O

**Author's Note:**

> Written for contests on Writer-nexus and TMNT-Horror on devArt for brainwashing and cruelty prompts. Pulling double duty here! (I have designs on a more adult version of this fic, but that may not happen for a while yet. Prod me if you're interested.)
> 
> Thanks for everyone who voted for this fic on the TMNT community awards! It's April's winner!

Baxter froze on the spot. He wondered if anyone had heard that.

“Hey… Stinkman, did you hear me?” the towering, skeletal form before him demanded, completely unaware of having just emitted the loudest, most werewolfish ‘cock-a-doodle-doo’ Baxter had ever heard. Rahzar intentionally began knocking objects off Stockman’s workstation in annoyance at the fly-mutant’s stunned silence, some of them shattering and splattering as they hit the ground. “Master Shredder’s waiting for a progress report from you on Karai’s retromutagen. He’s very unhappy with you,” he sing-songed in his gravelly voice. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he finally just crushed you this time. No great loss, you know, with your continued failures.”

He winced as a compound it’d taken him several days to concoct hit the floor and spilled, sizzling as it eroded the concrete. _Soon,_ he thought, gleefully putting on his best poker-face, though with his face looking like it did, he doubted if Bradford could tell a smile from a frown, much less a good poker-face from a bad one. “Progresssszzz? Oh, yesszzz! LOTSzzz of progresszzz!”

Silence fell on the lab as Rahzar treated the fly to a flat glare for several moments. “You don’t actually have anything, do you?”

“Ofvvv course I do! It’szzz—“ He looked down at the puddle of smoking chemicals and shards of glass and gave a resigned huff.

Rahzar regarded the mess as well, then glared at the fly once again. “Tell anyone about this and I’ll rip your wings off and feed them to Xever.” Baxter gave him a hard look, clenching his pincers. The necrotic mutant smirked back malevolently, then turned to stalk off. “Byebye, Stinkbug. I’d say it’s been nice knowing you… but, obviously, it hasn’t,” he called as a parting shot.

Baxter turned back toward his work table, and hummed (or rather, buzzed) the first few bars of Old MacDonald. On cue, the retreating dog mutant let out a rousing “Bok-bok-buckawk!” and then continued on his way as if nothing odd had happened. Stockman cackled gleefully under his breath until he was sure the double-mutated dog was out of hearing range, then burst out in loud peals of triumphant laughter.

 

Oh, this was too good! Baxter rubbed his pincers together. He’d only set up the subliminal subsonic wave to broadcast over the intercom system in the Foot Clan headquarters a week before, at such a low level it was beyond the active hearing range of even the dog’s and tiger’s ears, and both Bradford and Steranko were already responding to it! Phase 1 was the test, to see how receptive his intended victims would be: the cluck-like-a-chicken test (OF DOOM!). Bradford had been the first to buck-buck-buckle to the subliminal command: to cluck like a chicken when Baxter hummed Old MacDonald, and to recall neither the humming nor the action. It was surprising; he’d thought with all that ninja training, certainly the wolf would have been able to resist a little better… On the other hand, Bradford was a meathead, likely prone to favoring physical training over strengthening his will.

That suited Baxter just fine, and it was gratifying to see the smallest minds succumbing first.

After the rhino came his partner, the boar, and then the mighty Tiger Claw, all clucking and crowing on command as if they’d lay eggs any minute. That left only two in the building that hadn’t responded: Xever, and the Shredder himself. Not that he’d expected it to work on ‘Master’ Shredder anyway; the man’s will was likely as steel as what he wore. And perhaps the signal was too faint for his human ears to perceive. He suspected Xever couldn’t hear it either at its current level. After all, fish didn’t have ears. Perhaps he’d boost the amplitude, just a touch, and see if it made a difference.

Now, though, it was time to implement Phase 2. He opened the recording program on his computer and spoke in even tones: “Like Baxter Szztockman. Baxter Szztockman is my fvvriend. Trussst Baxter Szztockman. Thhinking about Baxter makeszz me happy. Reszzpect Baxter Szztockman. Being around Baxter makes me feel good.” Then he looped it and made it an overlay on the chicken message, a couple of decibels quieter. One miniscule step at a time.

Subliminal conditioning was a delicate matter. You couldn’t immediately command someone to do something if it was against their nature… unless you counted the brain-control worms, but those had proven to be unreliable: too easy to defeat, and they involved a lot of very noticeable screaming. But if you worked at someone a little bit at a time… advanced the ideas inch by inch, nudging a person subtly in the direction you wanted them to go, you could change a person. Bend them to your will, even. Like the miniscule roots of a weed, creeping into concrete, slowly getting a toehold, cracking and eventually breaking the slab...

So he had to tread carefully, go slow… He couldn’t afford to screw this up. If he did, he’d probably be killed outright for his treachery… or worse; Shredder would torture him. At this point in the game, though, what he was doing was relatively harmless… say, making friends and influencing people. _That_ wouldn’t get him killed. Probably. But if Oroku Saki found out what Stockman was planning for the later phases… the ninja master would have his head on a plate. And mutated or not, Baxter would rather keep his head right where it was.

 

“Hey… Stockman…”

That was the first difference, the first time he knew it was seeping in to Rahzar’s brain. Not Stinkman. Not Bugman. Not Dorkman. This time, the wolf abomination called him by his actual name and didn’t fling an insult at him. And the tone… welcoming… almost friendly. He turned momentarily from the chemical equations he was working through, giving the larger mutant a somewhat irritated answering glance.

“How’s that retromutagen coming?”

And this time, it didn’t sound like a threat. But that didn’t allay the fly-man’s annoyance about it. It should have been a simple solution, and yet he found himself fighting to find _one_ substance to reverse the mutagen’s seeming roulette wheel of effects. So despite the necrotic wolf’s change in attitude, he snapped back with, “The zzzsame aszz it’s been the paszzt sevvventeen times you’vvve asked!”

The other mutant clapped a bony hand on his shoulder, then took a seat on the edge of the lab’s vast control panel. “You’ll get it. Anything I can help with?”

The fly cast him a dark look. “Nnnnothing I particularly truszzzt you with.”

“Maybe I can clean up in here a little for you?” he tried, casting a glance at a heap of pizza boxes and not quite empty Chinese takeout containers putting off foul odors in the corners of the lab.

Stockman waved him off. “Thhhe Foot-botszz will take care of it… whenevvver Masster Shredder sendszz them down.”

Rahzar’s ears and tail visibly drooped. “Oh.” He picked at a stain on the panel’s side, but otherwise sat there silently.

Baxter made a few more notations on his chalkboard, feeling the wolf’s golden eyes on him the entire time. The presence of the mutant who normally bullied him relentlessly was unnerving, but even more so was this new attempt at being companionable. Though he knew he’d brought on the effects himself, it still felt… unnatural. Why wasn’t he leaving? What did he want?

After several more uncomfortable moments, Bradford let out a downhearted sigh, hopping to his feet. “Uh, you know, I’m playing cards tonight with Tiger Claw and Xever and Steranko. You wanna join us, maybe?”

What? What was that? An invitation? What, was he actually trying to be _friendly_?!

He’d never really had friends, he mused. His childhood had alternated between being bullied or ignored, and beyond high school, he was much more interested in his own projects than meeting people. He supposed it could be nice…

He shook himself free of the thought. He wasn’t doing this to make friends—he was doing it to take his revenge!

“Nnnno,” he decided. “Too busszzz-zzy.”

“Heh heh!” the skin-and-bones mutant chuckled harshly. “Good one!”

Good one? Had he made a joke—oh. Because he was a fly. Buzz buzz. Passé humor. Above Bradford’s usual amusements of insulting name-calling, but still low-brow.

“Maybe next week, then?” Bradford tried, and Baxter didn’t even respond. He slouched out of the lab, tail curled between his legs, taking no notice of the hearty rooster-crow he gave as Baxter began humming.

 

Baxter happened to run into Xever in the restroom; precisely the opportunity he was waiting for. It was innocuous enough, buzzing Old MacDonald to himself as he parked himself in front of the urinal, while the fish mutant washed his hands at the nearby sink.

The fish flicked his narrowed yellow eyes toward Stockman, but remained silent. Clearly, the subliminal suggestion hadn’t affected him. Perhaps a little more volume—

“Interesting choice of song,” Xever commented. “With a cluck-cluck here and a cluck-cluck there… An interesting way to gain trust and respect.”

Baxter felt the ichor drain from his face, instantly glued to the spot in fear. Fishface was on to him. “Erm…” he said, racking his brain for a suitable excuse.

Xever kept his eyes down, nonchalantly but meticulously drying his hands. “Do you know what the fish says?”

If Baxter had had eyelids, he would have blinked. But, as he didn’t there was simply an empty, stunned pause.

The other mutant pierced him with a fixing but wry glare. “Nothing,” he said meaningfully. “If you play your cards right.”

“Zzsso you _do_ hear it,” Stockman noted, and the fish snorted amusedly.

“Sounds are amplified underwater,” he stated. “Quite noticeable. Definitely hard to sleep through, but I’ve been able to tune it out. Nevertheless, it’s not as subliminal than you’d think.” Stockman jerked his head, taken aback. Fishface chuckled smoothly. “You didn’t think I kept those legs and tanks on twenty-four seven, did you?”

The two mutants stared each other down for a moment.

“What do you want fvvvrom me?” Baxter eventually asked.

Xever glanced to the door, to make sure no one was about to come in, then said, “I want in. I think I see where your game is leading, and I want a slice of it.”

“Why? How do I know I can truszzt you?”

A sneer curled the fish’s lip. “I was once the Shredder’s right-hand man. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but as Master Shredder has built his ranks with more powerful mutants, I’ve been more or less demoted to coffee boy. Certainly treated as such,” he noted bitterly. “The two of us—we are at the bottom of the food-chain.”

It wasn’t lost on Baxter that in the food chain, a fly was still below a fish. Xever could ruin him if he desired. Yet, he didn’t see any down side to the alliance. Could it hurt to have another person in on the plan? One whose motives aligned so closely with his own?

After mulling it over for a moment more, he murmured conspiratorially, “Mmmmy lab, elevvven o’clock. I’ll nnneed to record your vvvoice-zzz.”

The fish mutant’s jaw spread into a cunning and rather hateful grin—though Baxter could tell the hatred wasn’t aimed at himself—and he gave the fly-man a curt nod, exiting the restroom without a further word. Baxter headed back to his lab to draw up the scripts for Xever to read for phases 2 through 5.

Odd… it felt less like blackmail, and more like he’d found a friend.

But he wasn’t in this for friends.

 

The following week, Phase 3 was progressing better and faster than Baxter had ever imagined. Was this what it was like to be the popular kid in school?

“Lookin’ sharp, Bax-man!” Zeck grinned, shooting both his index fingers at Baxter in a smooth, jivey motion as they passed each other. Baxter magnanimously gave him a nod, and the warthog brimmed over with pride.

“Is new shirt, da?” the rhino-mutant beside him added.

“Nnno,” he buzzed back passively.

“Is _best_ shirt, then,” Steranko shrugged. “Wery in the style.”

“This iszzz the only shzzirt I havvve!” he declared harshly, his wings rattling together in annoyance.

“Ah!” the horned mutant exclaimed, not seeming to notice the fly’s foul mood. He made a stabbing motion with one bulky gray finger, as if pinning the answer down. “Is _lucky_ shirt!”

Baxter sighed, shaking his head as he walked on toward the Shredder’s throne room. Somehow, he’d thought forcing others to look up to him, like him, want to be him, would be less … _irritating._

He strode past Tiger Claw, who gave a low bow of respect. “Mister Stockman.”

It was a step up from the bullying, certainly. But the knowledge that it was all false, induced, added a bitterness to the small victory.

He passed Xever next, and they exchanged a rather wicked, knowing nod. The fish mutant tilted his glass of soda toward him briefly. Bebop took this as a sign the fish wanted a refill, and trotted over quickly with another can. “There ya go, Xever, ol’ buddy!”

Bradford met him at the stairs into the church sanctuary that had become the Shredder’s throne room, bowed to him, then escorted him inside and down the long walkway to the Foot Clan leader seated at its end. Both of them bowed, Baxter a bit more quickly and with less practice than Bradford’s more graceful, self-assured one. The Shredder gave them no acknowledgement other than the constant glare from his single good eye.

“Stockman. Report. Bradford tells me you are making progress. He has even gone so far as to recommend that you should be the first to receive the working retromutagen when you’ve finished Karai’s. Explain your findings. Then you can explain why it is taking you so long!”

The statement caught the fly-man off his guard. “Umm… I… Well, I meannn… Yeszz, Maszzzter Shredder. I havvve made zzsignificant progress with the fvvormula. I’vvve diszzcovered sevvveral relevant compound reactions withhhin the mutagen, wwwhich could lead to—”

“Do not waste my time. When?”

Baxter cringed under the man’s heavy scrutiny. “Wh-wh…when?”

The ninja’s heavy fist came down hard on the arm of his throne, making the mutant fly flinch. “When will the retromutagen for my daughter be ready?!” he boomed, the rage in his tone evident.

“I—!” Stockman started, casting about for something to say that would appease him. “Uh—t-two weeks! Nnno more than thhhat!”

The man stood and stepped forward, bearing down on him. “You have _one_.”

“Master!” Rahzar interjected, throwing a claw out desperately. The Shredder eyed him until he continued speaking. “Stockman knows what he’s talking about. He’s been working nonstop for you late into the night on this project alone! His loyalty and dedication are commendable! If he says he needs two weeks to complete it, I believe him! It can’t be done in one week!”

The Shredder’s eyebrow cocked sardonically. “Is that your professional scientific opinion on the matter, Bradford?”

Cowering slightly, the wolf-mutant withdrew a step. “I’ve… been spending some time in the lab… A-after training, of course.”

“Indeed,” said the Shredder flatly. “And you vouch for him, then?”

“Absolutely, Master!”

A pregnant silence hung in the air for several moments before the Shredder let an annoyed breath out through his nose. “Very well. You will have your two weeks. I expect a progress report in one.”

“Thhhank you, Maszzter,” Baxter buzzed in relief, retreating from the chamber as expediently as he could, Bradford trailing and eventually catching up to him as they both descended the staircase. The rotted-looking mutant stayed at his side, walking companionably with him as he made his way back to his laboratory, silent most of the way.

“He doesn’t understand you the way I do,” the necrotic canine snarled with conviction. “He’s never understood your brilliance.”

Stockman preened a bit at the ego-stroking, had to remind himself that it was his influence making Bradford say those words. Without the brainwashing, Rahzar would still be pushing him around as always. Nonetheless, he found a sort of solace in the false friendship. “And hiszzz management szztyle leaves much to be deszzzired.”

Rahzar gave an ironic laugh in his grating voice, then sobered, worried. “Can you really make the retromutagen in two weeks?” he eventually and unhopefully asked.

Baxter snorted. “Nnno. Karai’s mutation is mmmuch too complex. Her rrresistance-zz to the retromutagen iszz problematic.   Posszzibly if I had another zzsix monthszz…” His thoughts changed tack. “You zzstood up to thhhe Shredder vvfor me. Whhy’d you do thhhat?”

“Come on,” Bradford rumbled fondly, bumping Baxter’s ribs with his bony elbow, “what wouldn’t I do for my best buddy Baxter?” The fly-man stared at him. There was something in the wolf’s look that went beyond friendly camaraderie. But it was gone in the second that he jolted himself out of it. “Oh! Wait here…” The bony mutant dashed from the lab, returning a minute later with a chocolate bar in his claws, which he then held out to Stockman. “I was hoping this would be more of a celebratory gift, but… maybe just call it comfort food. I know you like these…”

Baxter almost couldn’t help snatching the Choco-Log out of Rahzar’s hands. He was drawn to the sweet treat like a fly to the unfortunately-named chocolate bar’s namesake. He ripped the foil off, vomiting digestive acid on it and sucking up the resulting melted mass. Feeling Bradford’s eyes still on him, he shifted a look his way, catching his expression out of the corner of about 20 of his eyes. He’d expected the disgusted look the bullying mutant had always given him, but instead… this was a look of… what, infatuation?

 _Don’t get distracted, Baxter. Revenge first and foremost._ Perhaps it was already time to press on to Phase 4…

 

_Love Baxter Stockman. Worship Baxter Stockman. Nothing pleases you more than to serve Baxter Stockman. Desire Baxter Stockman. No one in your life is more important than Baxter Stockman. You would lay down your life for Baxter Stockman. Love Xever Montes. Worship Xever Montes. Nothing pleases you more than to serve Xever Montes. Desire Xever Montes. No one in your life is more important than Xever Montes. You would lay down your life for Xever Montes. Obey Baxter Stockman without question. Obey Xever Montes without question._

It was only a day before their slaves prostrated themselves before Baxter and Xever, fully overcome by the post-hypnotic suggestion. The four mutants looked besottedly up at their masters from the concrete floor of the lab, now spotless from the slaves’ work.

Stockman paced before them. The feel of having dominated those who had looked down on him gave him a thrill of accomplishment, a power that made him want to cackle maniacally. But he also felt like he was going to be sick to his stomach from the continuous flow of nerve-driven adrenaline. He had stolen the mutant muscle of the incredibly powerful, incredibly dangerous, incredibly unforgiving leader of the Foot Clan. Any indication of disloyalty to the Shredder at this point from any of them could give them away. The fly mutant could just picture the ninja master’s tekō-gaki slicing through his throat when Shredder found him out. Right now, he was treading the line between fulfilling his quest for vengeance, and what he was sure Oroku Saki would make a very prolonged, agonizing death at the tip of a blade.

As long as Saki remained, he couldn’t relax… which was a pity, really; since his new minions had been so encouraging and helpful in the lab of late, he had gained much self-assurance, which actually _had_ contributed to the quality of his research and the quantity of his findings. He had honestly made leaps and bounds in the past week. If not for the Shredder’s unreasonable deadlines— emphasis on _dead_ —and how much they unnerved him, he may have unearthed twice as much new data.

Baxter had swiped all of the Shredder’s most powerful chess pieces, turned them to his own side, and _still,_ he felt powerless against the man. _Inverse law of ninjas, indeed,_ he mused.

“Master Stockman, what would you have of us, my lord?” Tiger Claw ventured, a plea to serve. It snapped Baxter from his nervous reverie.

“Yes, ‘Master Stockman,’” Xever repeated teasingly, “what is it you plan to do from this point?”

Baxter paced again, faster and more aggravated. “You fvvour havvve to act nnnormal around thhe Shredder,” he decided. “Donnn’t call uszz Maszzter if the Shredder iszz around. Donn’t fawn onnn uszz in hiszz preszzence… Nnnot evvven in earshot… givvve nnno inndicationn you hold uszz in high regard. Annny othher time, you will obey onnnly me!” Xever shot him a a narrowed, yellow-eyed look, and he promptly and contritely added, “…annd zzXevvver… ofvv courszze.”

“Yes, Master Stockman!” the assorted mutants chorused.

“And then?” the fish-mutant queried, sounding as if surely that couldn’t have been it.

The fly-man burred his wings agitatedly. “I’ll… thhhink ofvv zzsomething.”

“That’s it?!” Fishface snarled in irritation.

“I zzzaid I’d work onnn it!” Stockman snapped back. “Unlesszz _you_ can thhhink ofvv anythhhing better!”

“You just want them to act like we had never—“

Baxter lunged forward and clamped the other mutant’s jaws together. “Carevvful, you idiot! You’ll unnndo thheir conditioning!” he whispered threateningly.

“ _Estupido_!” Xever spat back at him. “What is the point of having slaves we can’t even use in most circumstances?!”

A little fanfare suddenly played from Stockman’s watch. He fumbled with his pincer for the button, eventually managing to turn it off, thankful for the interruption. “Mmmy progresszz report to Shredder,” he stated. “Bradfvvord, come withhh me.”

The werewolf let out a gasp of ecstasy at being chosen to go with his master, and trotted readily to his side.

Baxter’s heart fell lower and lower in his chest as they approached the throne room. Bradford seemed to pick up on his master’s trepidation and dared to lay a calming claw—for as calming as a skeletal claw could be—on Stockman’s shoulder. “Be confident, my beautiful Master,” he whispered tenderly near the fly’s face. “Show Shredder your brilliance, and he’ll be more inclined to give you what you need. And… I apologize ahead of time for this…”

Before Baxter could even buzz out the first syllable of a querying reply, Rahzar seized him by the collar of his shirt and a wing and shunted him up the staircase, frog-marching him to the throne. The wolf mutant dropped into a bow, forcing the fly down with him.

“Bradford, leave us. Stockman,” the Shredder boomed, without so much as a greeting, already impatiently drumming his fingers on the arm of his stone chair, “your progress.”

“Mmmy prog—“ he started, his fear of the man nearly making all memory of why he was there fall our of his head. “Yeszz!” he recovered. “Zzzzo much progresszz, Maszzter Shredder! Two, perhapzz three timeszz what I innnitially exzzpected!”

“Truly?” the ninja master rumbled, sitting forward in interest.

“Zzzsomeof the new compoundszz I’vve discovvvered indicate a way to deszztabilizze thhe

fvvoreign DNA in mutant blood. This iszzz a masszzivve leap fvvorward!”

“So you will have the retromutagen by next week as agreed?”

“Almoszzt zzcertainly! I mmmay nneed a vvvfew more days to teszzt and revvvfine thhe reszzzultszz, thhhough.”

The Shredder eyed him severely once more, eyes mere slits in his kabuto. He allowed the silence to hang, waiting for Stockman to collapse under its weight, perhaps to reveal any lies he might be telling, but Baxter wasn’t taking the bait. He’d outwait Shredder’s wait-time. Eventually the man sat back. “Very well. You will have the time you require. But _I_ require a completed retromutagen by the end of the month, or you will be starting over with one less limb. Is that understood?”

Baxter grinned, satisfied with the extension. “Ofvv courszze, Mazzzter Shredder.”

Shredder waved a hand at him flippantly. “Dismissed.”

The fly turned, striding down the walkway, puffed up with pride. Confidence… _Thank you, Rahzar!_

He was in such a good mood that he didn’t notice himself humming, until a deep-voiced, “Kok-e-kokKO!” sounded from behind him. He froze, turning slightly to glance back at the Shredder. _Was that the sound a Japanese chicken made??_ The man fixed him with a glare.

“Did… did you zzsay zzsomethhing juzzst then?” he asked carefully.

“I said nothing. Begone.”

“Aszzz you wish, Mazzzster.” He turned and resumed walking, a grin spreading across his strangely-placed mouth, barely able to contain the wicked triumphant laughter welling up inside him. He managed to get to the lab before the maniacal cackling overtook him.

 

It took another couple of weeks for Oroku Saki to catch up to the mutants in terms of his sudden fondness and servitude, now that Baxter had found a frequency that affected him. The fierce ninja warrior now lay kissing and caressing Baxter’s feet, while the fly stood above him, wearing the Shredder’s armor, vambraces, shoulder guards, and cape. He had tried the Kuro Kabuto as well, but it didn’t fit well with his bulging compound eyes. For the moment, it was a nice conversation piece on his worktable. The worktable itself was currently out of use; the task of developing retromutagen for himself and Xever—perhaps the others, eventually—had been passed off to actual geneticists, hired by the Shredder’s own hand during his stint in Phase 3 of the plan (OF DOOM!) at Baxter’s suggestion. As for Karai’s cure, she could go screw.

With no threat of deadlines or missions, and five willing servants, Baxter and Xever were spending some time in the throne room. It was Xever’s turn to occupy the throne, while it was Baxter’s to wear the armor. Xever had commanded Tiger Claw, clad in only a thong, to dance for them, as the tiger was the only one with a sense of grace _and_ didn’t make annoying sounds while doing it the way Bebop did (they’d found that one out the hard way). The boar had instead been relegated to food and drink duty, and was currently serving grapes to the fish mutant on the throne. Having found a large war-fan in Shredder’s collection of weapons, Rocksteady stood nearby, using it to provide a nice breeze for his masters. Rahzar simply sat by Stockman’s side, nuzzling his head against Baxter’s hand like a faithful dog.

Xever swirled the amber drink in his hand idly as he looked over to Stockman. “Have you started Phase 5 yet?”

“Yezzsterday,” he replied. “Ifvv my calculationszz are right, and thhhey are, we zzhshould be seeing the rezzzults about now.”

Phase 5 was the clincher. The reveal. Up to this point, he had merely turned his victims into slaves and worshippers. The final step was much, much more cruel. Phase 5, in Xever’s velvet voice, was letting them _know_.

_You will understand what we have done to you, what we, Xever Montes and Baxter Stockman, have made you. You cannot escape the power over you, you cannot act any way other than what we bid you to, but you will always be aware of what you once were, and what we have taken from you: your power over us, your freedom, your status, your very dignity. This is our vengeance upon you: to know that you are forever trapped, our willing slaves and entertainment, and that we have won!_

It was a subtle change, for the most part. The adoring smiles on their faces faltered the tiniest bit, but something in the eyes of each suddenly took on a haunted look. Saki let out a slight whimper, the final thread of fight and free will giving up the ghost. Soon after, Bradford nuzzled closer to Stockman’s hand. “I love you, Master!” he proclaimed, though his eyes said just the opposite.

“Ah, I see it!” Xever nodded approvingly.

Baxter grinned widely. “Yeszzz… They know I’ll be thhheir maszzter fvvorever!”

The fish mutant shot him a look. “You mean, ‘we will.’“

The fly buzzed slightly, shifting his wings. “Err…yeszz… Ofvvv course-zz!” he tried to cover. “Zzzlip ofvv the tongue.”

“Good.” With a somewhat theatrical sigh, Xever stood, stalking toward the throne room’s exit. “You can have the fancy chair for a while, amigo. I feel like a nap. Tiger Claw and Saki will attend me.”

“As you wish, my Master,” the former Shredder purred, he and the tiger mutant following.

Baxter seated himself on the throne and gazing upward, tapped his fingers on his leg, plotting. “Nnnow… how to uzzse this on thozzzse wretched turtleszzz…?”

Xever cast a look back at him, then began humming the first line of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” as he stalked away on his mechanical legs. Baxter didn’t notice when he emitted a loud, “Baaaa!”


End file.
